Second Sunday of May
by A Vampires Butterfly
Summary: Arthur won't let Alfred wallow in misery. They've all made mistakes before...It's ridiculous to let them overwhelm you.


"Hey this is Alfred F. Jones! I'm probably out saving kittens and helping little old ladies across streets, but I'll save your day when I get back!"

"Oh…I guess I missed you. I was wondering if you wanted to come over for tea today. Last time we talked, it was all about your war and I thought we could properly discuss something _besides_ that for once. Well. Call me back."

"Hey this is Alfred F. Jones! I'm probably out saving kittens and helping little old ladies across streets, but I'll save your day when I get back!"

"It's getting near noon, Alfred. Are you coming? Call me back already."

"Hey this is Alfred F. Jones! I'm probably out saving kittens and helping little old ladies across streets, but I'll save your day when I get back!"

"Alfred! Answer your bloody phone, you moronic wanker! If I have to listen to your idiotic answering machine one more time-! Call me!"

"Hey this is Alfred F. Jones! I'm probably out saving kittens and helping little old ladies across streets, but I'll save your day-"

Arthur just barely stopped himself from throwing the sleek black cellular into the wall, the obnoxious voice of his ex-colony ringing in his ears exactly like it had been all day. Why was it that when he actually _wanted_ the git over, he was no where to be found? Numerous calls had been made, but the idiot hadn't answered a single one. What could he possibly be doing? Arthur somehow doubted he was actually saving kittens and helping little old ladies…

"Ah…_Angleterre_…Tell me you haven't forgotten what day it is tomorrow for our dear little _Amérique_."

Arthur jumped at the sleazy voice of that damnable wine bastard. How did he get in here?

"I haven't forgotten anything." He growled, mind racing to try to remember what he had forgotten. What day could it be where Alfred would refuse the offer of free food? Every holiday, Alfred took his calls…Every one of them except, of course…But no. It wasn't here yet, was it? He couldn't have forgotten such a day, could he? Mentally, he checked the date and…Oh God help him.

"Ah. You do remember, then." Francis commented dryly.

Arthur turned to face him, feeling his age so strongly that he wanted nothing more then to sink into a large chair and sleep for a century or so. Not that anything would change in a century. He doubted the second Sunday of May would ever be different for Alfred.

Francis's stare was disapproving. Had he really done something that made _Francis_ able to be correctly disapproving? Everything in him rebelled against the idea, but there it was. Every year the same day, the same thing…Well, not this year. Alfred had done enough pouting and moping. Arthur was quite sick of the sorry act.

"Where are you going? You know he doesn't want to see anyone…"

"I'm going to make him see me. This is ridiculous. The world can't stop just because he wants it to."

"You can't respect his wishes for this one day, _bâtard_?"

Francis followed after him, frog accent thick with a reprehending tone. Arthur ignored him, grabbing his coat, passing the hallway mirror without a glance, already knowing how it would look. That damn Francis following after his heels, telling him of his wrong doings with just a look that he didn't want to see. He had seen it before, many times, in the eyes of many people, and it hadn't fazed him yet. Why would it now?

"His wishes are childish." He said curtly, slamming his own front door in the slimy face of that frog, not feeling any sort of guilt or squirming at the rare look of real disgust on Francis's face. How did he have any right to judge? Arthur could tell that wine bastard of his mistakes, too. Mistakes that would make anyone's skin crawl. This day merely marked another mistake. They _all_ made mistakes.

The plane ride to Alfred's house (the one in Virginia. It was _always_ the one in Virginia that he retreated to) was uneventful. He didn't think about what day it was or what he might find when the plane landed on the early Sunday morning. Instead, he focused on his annoyance in the way he was being ignored for a reason that should have been long forgotten.

Horrible things happened in their lives…Terribly, bloody events that no one really wanted to revisit. But those things were problems everyone had to face every day. Alfred didn't see him crawling into a hole every April thirteenth or even April sixth, now did he? No, of course not. He knew that it was better to just move on and leave the remembering for the historians.

'_Alfred…Why do you do this to yourself, you fool?' _

The rental car pulled smoothly into the driveway and Arthur wondered for the briefest of the moments if he should just pull back, leave. But that would be admitting Francis had been right. That would be admitting that Alfred should be allowed his pity party. No. Arthur frowned, catching his own eye in the rearview mirror before quickly looking away, sliding out of the car, and locking it with two quick beeps. This ended now.

The crunch of gravel under his feet was loud to his ears and the crisp morning air didn't even give him a shiver. Buried under his coat, he made his way up Alfred's driveway and to the door. Birds chirped from green leafed trees as he passed them and not a single cloud covered the early sunlight.

As he raised his hand to knock, again he thought of turning back. The smell of fresh cut grass and something that could only be described as nature filled the air… The foreboding feeling of the red door, no welcome mat to be seen, made him question his choice once again. The beauty of spring gave everything a shine of health, and yet the date was like smog, poisoning whatever health might be present.

Arthur stood there, hand raised, and wondered how the arbitrary meaning of the day could warp and distort the pleasantness of everything else. It didn't seem fair, actually.

With that thought in mind, Arthur gave the door three quick raps and waited. Five minutes later, when the door still hadn't opened, Arthur knocked again, louder. Alfred was not going to ignore him anymore. With a displeased huff, Arthur knocked again and happened to glance down to see a very odd looking rock. It certainly wasn't real. Why would Alfred put a fake rock by his door…? Ah. Of course.

Sighing at the obviousness of it, Arthur picked up the rock and sure enough, the bottom came off and a small, silver key fell into the waiting palm of his hand. Soon, the once hidden key was shoved into the lock and turned without hesitation. Arthur let the door slowly open, waiting with a coil of anticipation for whatever might leap out of the opened entrance.

Of course, nothing leapt out of him, but he stayed prepared.

"Alfred? Didn't you hear me knock?"

Entering the rather dark house, Arthur crept around, feeling very much like an intruder. Quiet music was heard from deep in the house and Arthur followed it hesitantly, trying to tell himself that this was ridiculous. He should say something. Alfred was obviously here and he had to have heard him. Arthur tried to tell himself he should be yelling and telling off the moping ex-colony.

But the darkness of the house, the silence broken only by the almost familiar soft music he was following, the bare cream walls that encased it all…It made him swallow any insults he could think of. Instead, he went down the undecorated hallway that just screamed wrongness. All of Alfred's other houses were filled with junk and covered with pictures of everything Alfred had ever seen and brought a camera to.

This one had nothing.

"Alfred?" he managed to whisper, telling himself he was only whispering because he thought that maybe Alfred was still asleep. A flickering of light was coming from the open doorway at the end of the hallway. It didn't look very inviting…But Arthur wasn't about to just leave! Not after coming so far…He steeled himself, lifting his chin and straightening his posture before charging towards the open door, his ex-colony's name on the tip of his tongue, ready to be shouted.

"_What can you expect__from filthy little heathens?__Their whole disgusting race is like a curse!" _

The English accented singing voice came from the T.V. and Arthur felt him freeze in the doorway, caught red handed. When his eyes adjusted better to the different lightning…Arthur didn't get hurt easily. No, not very easily at all. He had seen many things in his long life…Sad, horrible things and he had seen them with a cold stare and a even colder heart.

But the sight of Alfred, huddled under a dull, old blanket on an even older couch, watching with almost obsessive attention his movie Pocahontas…It made something in his chest tighten and it took a long moment before he could successfully ignore it.

A small voice in his head whispered that he should find this amusing. The one day Alfred insisted on cutting himself off from the rest of the world, he decided to watch a Disney movie of all things? _'Maybe he isn't so bad…Maybe he just got distracted…Or went on a binge of hamburgers, coffee, and Disney and forgot to turn on his phone…Maybe he's forgotten all about what day it is…'_

Even as he thought it, he dismissed it.

"_They're not like you and me__. __Which means they must be evil__! __We must sound the drums of war!"_

Arthur saw Alfred's blue eyes blood shot, dark bags framed by tilted and smudged glasses. The ex-colony didn't even glance at him, as if he didn't even exist. Instead, the television had all of his attention and Arthur even saw that chapped lips were mouthing the lyrics, word for word. He knew that Alfred must have seen all the Disney movies at least a million times…He was so proud of the things…Arthur had seen Alfred sing the song 'Make A Man Out Of You' by memory, with horrible imitations of China's attacks and all.

But this was different. Because this wasn't Mulan or The Little Mermaid. It was, of course, the worst of the lot. How had he never noticed Alfred was so masochistic?

Shaking his head, he took a step into the room and it was like stepping on a twig while hunting. Alfred's eyes didn't move from the screen, not even a little. But as if it were a knee jerk reaction, a gun came from the blanket and became pointed directly at him, cocked loudly even as the movie sang of war and savages.

"Hullo Alfred…" Arthur greeted as calmly as he could, trying to remain undisturbed by the gun aimed at him. Usually, when Alfred did something threatening towards him…It was nothing to worry about. The hairs rose on his neck and the air of the room felt suddenly chilled. This wasn't exactly 'usually', now was it?

"_Savages! Savages!__Barely even human!__Now we sound the drums of war!__"_

"She dies at the end," A small gulping noise and Alfred's trembling voice continued, "They all die."

"They don't die at the end of the movie. I've seen this one, Alfred." He reminded him, tone terse. The gun shook a little but then steadied and Arthur felt himself breathe again. He felt as though he were walking on field of landmines. Any wrong word and Alfred would blow up. Childish. So very childish. But what was worse then an upset child with a gun?

"She doesn't live…They are all murdered…Forced to pretend they aren't who they are and then they die." The word die seemed strange when said so seriously with Pocahontas as background noise to their conversation.

The hand holding the gun twitched slightly as Alfred witnessed the title character come onto the screen. Arthur tore his eyes away from the gun to watch the movie with Alfred, seeing John Smith and Pocahontas talking to each other. Arthur didn't see, but Alfred spoke the lines with Pocahontas, never John Smith.

"_Gold? There's nothing like that around here…Not that I've seen…Will they leave now?"_

Arthur already knew the answer the question. No…He hadn't left. He had stayed and helped Alfred become civilized. And how had the whelp thanked him? Well, everyone knew the answer to that question, too.

"No one dies. Don't you remember telling me that it is against the rules of Disney for someone to die?" he asked, trying to keep his tone annoyed, but light. Of course, he wasn't an idiot. He knew who Alfred was truly talking about.

The man still refused to look at him. Arthur wondered if maybe Alfred was just talking to himself and he was simply listening in on something he shouldn't be. Would it be too late to leave? He eyed the gun. Alfred wouldn't shoot him…Not in this day and age.

"I loved her…I loved her so much. She took care of me, she cared for me, she never hurt me…I didn't need to earn her love. She just…_Gave_ it to me."

Arthur couldn't help but wince. The words sounded like they were splinters, pulled slowly and painfully out of Alfred. The ex-colony's face was twisted in pain and Arthur decided that it was a least better then the blankness of before. He decided to ignore the words themselves. They weren't important.

"Yes, yes. She was a lovely woman," His hand waved through the stiff air, trying to brush away the tenseness that Alfred seemed to be demanding stay. "Do you really think she would want you to wallow in misery every year?"

_Crack! _

Arthur tilted his head only slightly to glance at the smoking hole that now lay in the wall, only a hair's breath away from his ear. Turning back to face the gun that had made the hole, Arthur put on an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest. The crossed arms hid the way his hands shook and if he just managed to keep up the serious façade, then hopefully Alfred would believe that he still didn't think he would really get shot.

"Don't you say anything about her. Don't you fucking dare say anything about her!" Arthur retreated only a half step back, Alfred's shouting breaking the silence once and for all in a way that not even the sound of a gun could. Blue eyes never stopped watching as John Smith got attacked.

"You didn't know anything about her!"

"You can't say that, Alfred. It's not fair." He interrupted, despite the obvious warnings going off in his head. Alfred wasn't stable. Far from it, actually. And arguing with him wasn't the wisest of decisions. But he wouldn't just stand idly by as false accusations were thrown at him. Even if the thrower was tiptoeing along the edge of insanity.

"Not fair?" The low whisper was so much worse then the shouting…Arthur couldn't just stare at the pointed gun as if the thing talking to him. Glancing at the screen of the T.V. for the slightest of seconds, he turned back to Alfred, trying to get a better read of his face. But he saw nothing but the reflection of the screen on dirty glasses and a steady hand holding onto the weapon like a life line. What was going through that boy's head?

"You know so much about unfairness…It wasn't fair that I left her…Or that I accepted your clothing and your language and your guns…" Arthur watched as the bundle that was Alfred's body curled into itself and Arthur couldn't help but think that Alfred was turning himself into a tightly coiled spring with a gun attached.

"I didn't force you to take my gifts, Alfred. You chose to follow me and you chose me over her." Arthur refused to take the blame for this. He had done many, many things in his long life, most of them horrible, only some understandably so.

"You were the one that…Did that to her, Alfred. You can't lie to yourself like that. Especially since it's such a stupid lie." And maybe he could even take reasonability for perhaps creating an unseen domino effect. But just because he set up the dominos didn't mean he was going to take a blame for tipping them. That had been Alfred. Vaguely, Arthur realized a new song had come on but he couldn't look to see if he remembered what scene it was. All he knew was that it was nearing the end.

"_Is it only death that waits__just around the riverbend?"_

"I'm not…I'm not saying it's your…It's my fault. It's my blame to take. I'm the one who killed her." A hiss of air left Alfred, like a dying balloon. He ripped off his glasses, throwing them carelessly and suddenly blue eyes were locked onto him, catching him and taking away any option of escape.

"I killed her. Not quickly. Not painlessly. I took the people that I once called my family. I forced them to leave their home…The home we used to share…And I told them that I would make them a new home. And then I pushed them farther. And farther." The blanket fell off of Alfred and Arthur saw bare shoulders visibly shudder and twitch under an invisible weight.

"_Now we leave 'em blood and bone and rust__!" _

"I took their land. I took their happiness. I took their lives. For what?" Arthur flinched at the crash of the gun colliding with the wall and waited for the bullet to be released. "For money! For gold! And sometimes not even for that…Sometimes just because I thought I _could_." Alfred stood suddenly, the color of the scene on the T.V. turning his skin a dull red.

Arthur barely noticed the nudity. He regretted coming. The waves of pain coming from Alfred hit him with every word and he told himself this was foolish. But Arthur remembered when this red drenched, angry man had just been a little boy in white, choosing him to take care of him.

His fingernails dug into his palms as the stare off between the countries continued, the air simmering with the words that poured from Alfred like pus from a wound. He shouldn't feel anything but annoyance at being forced into being the audience to Alfred's pity party. And yet…He had to stop himself from holding and trying to comfort his ex-colony. Arthur knew there was no comforting this sort of thing.

"_How loud are the drums of war?"_

"…She didn't yell at me…Why didn't she yell at me? She didn't scream or curse me or tell me I was a murderer." Alfred's hands came shakily up, curled into claws.

"_We will sound the drums of war!"_

"I had her blood on my hands, but she refused to say a mean word. I-I don't think I would've believed her if she had. But she just smiled at me and told me that she…"

"_Savages! Savages!"_

Alfred's voice cracked and Arthur realized in the red light that tears were running down pale cheeks. He wasn't sure why he was surprised.

"_Now, we sound the drums of war!"_

"She said she would still be there. For me. How does that make sense?"

"_Savages! Savages"!_

"It doesn't. It doesn't make any sense. Why didn't she kill me? Why couldn't she have killed me instead?"

"_Now we sound the drum...of...war!"_

He wanted quiet. He wished for it. But the drums beat louder and Alfred was quivering with restraint. What was he restraining?

Alfred lurched towards him, footsteps erratic. Drums sounded from the T.V., louder and louder. Arthur couldn't back away and Alfred moved until he stood in front of him, clawed hands the only thing between them. Arthur could hear Alfred's frantic breathing, could even see the trails left by the tears. They stared at each other, chorus singing as if Alfred's turmoil was the background noise to the movie.

Arthur wished he had sent anyone else. Someone who could make Alfred feel better or someone who could convince him that this was crazy. Anyone but him. He didn't know what he was doing…

"You don't mean that. She wouldn't have wanted you to die, you idiot." Why was he insulting him? This was stupid. So stupid! But his voice pleaded with Alfred, as if to beg for the moron to believe him. But Alfred just stared at him as if he had never seen him before and Arthur couldn't tell if the drums were so loud that it was all he could hear or if that was his pulse beating so rapidly in his ears.

"I hurt her." Alfred was mumbling and Arthur felt the press of knuckles on the outside of his coat.

"I ruined her." Louder now, over the crash of the song and Arthur felt himself tense when Alfred seemed to find his eye again.

"I murdered my own mother!"

Silence.

"_Is the death of all I love__carried in the drumming of war?"_

Alfred collapsed against him, whatever had been holding him back cut off and leaving him boneless. He fell, sobbing into his coat and Arthur could only gather him in his arms, unable to make even the slightest noise of comfort.

Over Alfred's head, Arthur watched as Pocahontas defied her father and her tribe, risking her own life. All for a man whose people would only come back to do the things that Alfred confessed to…

_Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the soft ground with shadows. She moved through them, weak already. When she had felt more strangers come to her, she had known she wasn't going to be much longer. _

_When the strangers had first come…A gift had been given to her and she had thought that perhaps the strangers would be good. Because of the strangers, she had received such happiness and joy in the small form of a small child, hair the color of corn silk, eyes as blue as the sky. Her gift was as strong as the mountains and sometimes as a loud as a herd of buffaloes…Her people adored him, taking him in with their own and teaching him so much. _

_He was beautiful and loved and now she held his tiny hand in hers letting him pull her through the trees. She had told him to be as silent as he could and he was stifling giggles as they crept through their own forests. _

_She had to make it to the strangers. She wouldn't be able to raise her gift and she wouldn't be able to fight off the strangers. Her people didn't know it yet, but she could feel a sense of foreboding, saved only for when one was close to death. _

"_Ah! I saw him before! I saw him before!" Her gift tried to whisper to her, pointing through the bushes at the men standing in the meadow. The young boy bounced at her side, feet dancing in the dirt, so eager to meet new people. He was so bright…She couldn't let him die with her. He wasn't supposed to die so young. _

_Kneeling in the soft land, she gathered her gift in her arms, feeling her tears stain his white cloth covered shoulder. This wouldn't be the last time she saw him…But this was going to be the last time that he was her gift…She had to give her gift away to the strangers. Silently, she wished for luck and gave it to the boy wiggling in her arms, quietly questioning what was wrong in a way only small children can. _

"_I love you, my gift." _

_She pulled away gently, pressing a kiss to his light hair. Wide, blue eyes stared at her with concern, little hand reaching towards her. But she shook her head and softly turned him back towards the strangers. He looked back over at her, one last glance, before he bounded into the meadow, running swiftly across the grass to where the strangers stood._

_Watching from the shadows, she saw the two strangers try to convince the small boy to come to them. For a time, it seemed the longer haired one would win. But she knew which one her given gift would go to. _

_She smiled sadly as the sun kissed boy hugged the shorter man and knew she was right in giving her gift to the man. The look of surprise and joy on the man's face as he held his gift made her sure that whatever happened to her would be bearable as long as the gift of a boy was loved and taken care of._

_Quickly, she disappeared back into her forest, knowing she couldn't watch the man's gift being held so dearly when all she wanted was her gift returned. One hand bracing her weakening form on a tree, she had to take just one look back. Through the branches, she saw the same scene and her heart ached. She closed her eyes, letting that last tear fall into the dry dirt. _

"_I wish you all the happiness this world can provide…" _

Hello there! A Vampires Butterfly here! This fic was written for Mother's Day and I realize I am a week late…But I only recently got my computer back so I hope no one minds the lateness…=w='' I also hope no one minds the angst-ness of this one-shot…This is based on the fan theory (not created by me) that Alfred's mother represents the Native Americans and I find this idea very, very sad and decided to share the sadness. Hope you somehow enjoyed~! With much love, A Vampires Butterfly ^.^


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